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It helped her to hold fast to her identity in the rush of strange names and new categories that her cousin's talk poured out on her. With the progress of the journey Miss Suffern's communications grew more and more amazing. She was like a cicerone preparing the mind of an inexperienced traveller for the marvels about to burst on it. "You won't know Leila. She's had her pearls reset.
And of course what she says is law. Oh, they quite hope they'll get it. You see Horace's uncle is in the Cabinet, one of the assistant secretaries, and I believe he has a good deal of pull " "Horace's uncle? You mean Wilbour's, I suppose," Mrs. Lidcote interjected, with a gasp of which a fraction was given to Miss Suffern's flippant use of the language. "Wilbour's? No, I don't. I mean Horace's.
Susy Suffern's explanation did not end till after ten o'clock, and she had just gone when Franklin Ide, who, complying with an old New York tradition, had caused himself to be preceded by a long white box of roses, was shown into Mrs. Lidcote's sitting-room. He came forward with his shy half-humorous smile and, taking her hand, looked at her for a moment without speaking.
"Oh, no; I believe there was some mistake about dates. Her mother telephoned her that she was expected at the Stepleys, at Fishkill, and she had to be rushed over to Albany to catch a train." Mrs. Lidcote meditated. "I'm sorry. She's a charming young thing. I hoped I should have another talk with her this evening after dinner." "Yes; it's too bad." Miss Suffern's gaze grew vague.
Lidcote, when at last she found herself alone in the New York hotel to which she had returned the night before embarking, had the feeling that she had just escaped with her life from the clutch of a giant hand. She had refused to let her daughter come to town with her; she had even rejected Susy Suffern's company.
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